


Passing Stranger

by tulililli



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Soulmates, This fic is Cheetos, do not expect nourishment, soul marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulililli/pseuds/tulililli
Summary: Alex Claremont-Diaz is proud of his soul mark and nothing will ever change that. Even though the Prince of Wales can’t seem to stand the sight of him.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 65
Kudos: 155





	1. Waterfront

Part 1: Enemies

[Photo: blond man with immaculate posture and a linen suit, listening intently to a woman in a coral cocktail dress and a preposterously big hat]  
[Photo: the same man, dressed in polo gear and sat expertly astride a bay polo pony, caught mid swing, dirt and grass kicked up from the horse’s hooves]

_His Royal Highness Prince Henry was spotted this week at a charity polo match for the Naturalism Society, which is currently pushing its Urban Initiative. The initiative plans to open several teen centers in London._

_“My family has supported the Society for many years,” the Prince said when we caught up with him after the match. “I expect it will continue that support for many years.”_

“Fuck him,” Alex hissed, flipping his phone facedown on the table and picking up his fork. 

“That is what you get when you taint the sanctity of brunch. Nothing good comes of it. Whoever you’re mad at will probably still be worthy of your disdain later.” June leaned back in her chair, adjusted her sunglasses, and picked up her mimosa. 

“Not a good enough reason to use the word taint,” Nora muttered under her breath, attempting to eat what amounted to a fancy powdered donut with some semblance of decorum. It was not going well. 

Alex tried to sit back and let his surroundings wash away his anger— the gentle sound of the Potomac lapping against the docks, the cool drip of the condensation on his cocktail glass, the smell of cooking seafood and Old Bay wafting over from the fish market, the man laughing with his children on the walkway next to the patio where they were currently eating—

“Okay but here’s the thing.” June and Nora groaned audibly as he broke the silence. “His Royal Highness is up to his shit again. He’s partnering with a foundation. The Naturalism Society, which is as messed up as it sounds.”

June grimaced, rubbing at the abstract blue and purple shapes around her left wrist. Alex mirrored the gesture, stroking his thumb over the white whorls flowing from his right temple and across his cheek.

“Yeah, that’s terrible,” Nora agreed. “But, the world is a dumpster fire and we are trying to chill out for just a second. Now shut up and eat this donut. It comes with a chocolate dipping sauce.”

Alex took the donut and grudgingly bit into it, refusing to admit out loud that it did make him feel perhaps a teeny tiny bit better. He stared at his phone for a few seconds, deep in drunken, carb-loaded contemplation, and then turned it all the way off and shoved it in his pocket. He picked up his glass and took a long sip. 

“That’s the spirit!” June said brightly, holding up her own flute in a toast. 

————-  
Alex woke from his post-day drunk nap with a splitting headache and a pissy mood. He tried and failed to remember why (concerning the bad mood; he was extremely aware of the choices that lead to his headache) until he turned his phone back on and saw the headline staring back up at him. 

The whole thing wormed its way into Alex’s brain. His anger and sadness bred around it. He couldn’t help thinking about what he would say to Prince Henry, if he were ever in a position where speaking his mind to the man wouldn’t endanger a trade deal or something. He’d planned and re-planned what he’d say about his Mark if given the chance. About how proud he was of his soul mark. How much it meant to him. 

Alex truly, genuinely loves his Mark. He remembers the year of jealousy he had when June got hers first, the day before her quinces. The thrill he felt when his dad took him to the church to get his Mark on his birthday. He also remembers the small crisis he had when he realized it was going to bloom on his face, and the comforting hugs and long talks with both his parents that helped him move from embarrassment to pride. Now, he sees it as a connection to both his past and future. To his father, who was taken to get his soul mark by his father, and his father before. And to the person he would eventually share his life with. The one that would cause his Mark to sing and shift and settle. He was willing to put in the hard work to get there with someone, and he was excited that the whole world would get to see it every time they looked at him. Also, he thought it made him look dashing. Magazines seemed to agree. 

He’d written that essay in his head a hundred times, addressed to dozens of people, but that didn’t stop him from rewriting it over and over again all the way through dinner and movie night. He daydreamed about possible inciting incidents while eating pizza. As Furiosa tried to beat Max to death with a wrench, he considered possible introductory sentences. He reordered his main points as the Doof Warrior shot sparks out of his guitar. He knew, he _knew_ that there was no magical combination of words that would change the Prince’s mind. There was no situation in which Alex reciting what basically amounted to an immaculately written tirade to his dumb face would result in a satisfying character arc. This did not stop Alex’s brain at any point. 

“Come on, baby bro. Don’t let him get to you.” June held open her arms, wordlessly demanding a hug. Alex didn’t bother pretending to resist. 

“I’m fine,” he lied, face on her shoulder. 

“Listen, if it’s that bad, we’ll just shove him off a balcony when we see him next week.”

Alex narrowly avoided slamming his head into hers as his spine straightened and his eyes widened involuntarily. “Oh shit.”

June laughed with the kind of delight only older siblings feel when causing their inferiors distress. “Yeah, I think Prince Philip is planning to get married no matter what your current feelings on his brother currently are. “

Alex scoffed, turning to head down the hallway. “My feelings are the same as always: he’s terrible and always will be. “

June snorted. “Uh huh.”


	2. St. Paul's

Alex, after some soul searching and a few tiktoks featuring unlikely animal friendships, decided that he was really too good to bother being mad at Henry. 

“I think I’m too good to bother being mad at Henry,” he said out loud, because nothing in his brain told him not to. He was perched on the side of the truly enormous tub in the hotel suite he was sharing with June, texting Nora live updates. 

“Yeah, completely. That’s definitely working for you,” June replied, somehow without moving her lips as she carefully applied lip gloss. "But seriously, please be chill, okay? I have approval to write a column on a topic that actually matters this month, and if you get up to something ridiculous they'll probably pull it and try to make me write something about it. Not that I would."

"What's the column about?" Alex asked, perking up. 

"Contractors that recruit workers from homeless shelters to carry out evictions off the books."

Alex felt rage bubble up in his stomach. "What the fuck. Tell me everything." He listened intently, letting other worries fade as June explained the scope of the issue, and a series she desperately wanted to do with the writers at Street Sense.

Fifteen minutes later, Alex's phone pinged with a text from Nora and he saw the time. "We're going to talk about this more later, but we have to go. Hold on though, Nora wants to see,” he said, holding out his phone for a mirror selfie. Rolling her eyes, June leaned against him in a dramatic pose and Alex grinned, quickly snapping a photo. They were both making awkward faces and he hadn’t paid attention to the lighting because Nora already knew what they looked like at their worst. But damn, they were representing the US pretty well. 

June was in a golden yellow sheath dress with blue embroidery that coordinated with the Mark on her wrist and the warm tone of her skin. Her matching hat, wide-brimmed with a chique bow, sat box on the bed, waiting to be pinned in place over her carefully-styled hair. Alex was in a well-fitted blue suit with a crisp white shirt and tan brogues, his dark red tie still untied and laid over his shoulder, gold tie clip waiting. He’d taken extra care with his hair and applied the basic layers of concealer and bb cream he put on whenever he was likely to be photographed. Then, he’d reached for Nora’s highlighter, looking to her for permission. She’d silently handed him a clean brush, and he’d applied a layer over his cheekbones, causing his Mark to glint in the light. 

They grinned at each other as they finished getting ready. They looked good and didn’t give a shit if anyone had a problem with it. 

——————

Alex would swear on his life that he didn’t push Henry into the cake. He would also admit to roughly four people on the planet that he deeply wished he had. 

——————-

The wedding itself was fine. St. Paul's was objectively lovely, the gold and intricate mosaics combining with tasteful flowers to give an overall feeling of opulence without gaudiness. Martha, Prince Philip’s bride, looked on the edge of happy tears the entire ceremony. Even Philip, who generally looked like he was smelling something unpleasant whenever Alex saw him, seemed fit to burst with joy. He very pointedly did not look at the tall, straight-backed man standing to the right of Philip. There were fourteen peonies in the flower arrangement near him, and fifteen in the next one over. 

The process of transferring everyone to the reception venue was excruciatingly slow. The room was decorated as carefully as the sanctuary had been, with flowers and organza draped on seemingly every surface but the table holding Philip and Martha’s insane, seventeen-tiered, expertly decorated wedding cake. Alex found his fourth hour staring at peonies to be somewhat less satisfying than his first three. Thank god for the open bar. 

When he spotted Henry, he was in the very respectable state of Three Drink Alex, who is friendly and generally feeling good will towards men, women, and non-binary people. Although he did have roughly five thousand words of prepared hard truths he had fantasized about delivering to the Prince, he had that terrible idea on lockdown and was focusing on better things. Namely: the tray of hors d'oeuvres that was behind the blond. Sure, there were other members of the wait staff circulating with other trays, but the young woman holding  _ that  _ tray had just come out of the kitchen, and her tray was full of glistening, perfect little spinach puffs that were guaranteed to be hot still. Three Drink Alex loved humanity, but Three Drink Alex was passionately  _ in love  _ with food, so he had to go over. 

He walked forward, noting with deep annoyance that Prince Henry looked absolutely perfect in his morning suit, the cut of his coat emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders, his hair pushed into a style that reflected the light and looked impossibly soft. Fuck that guy. As Alex passed by, he slipped a properly deferential “your Highness”, using every ounce of self control he possessed to seem nonchalant while grabbing an extremely reasonable two puffs from the tray. He gave an appreciative nod to the server and was about to leave when Henry responded. 

He expected that maybe the Prince would ignore him. Or, perhaps he would vaguely acknowledge him, call him by the wrong name, and go back to whatever vapid conversation he was having. What Alex did not expect was for the Prince of Wales to spin around and look at him, his face even whiter than normal. He also didn’t expect the Prince to stammer out “Alexander! Ah, er— Mr. Claremont-Diaz. It is lovely to see you. I hope you enjoy your evening, but I have something I must attend to. If you’ll excuse me.” And he certainly didn’t expect the Prince to turn heel and absolutely haul ass out of the room. 

It took Alex a few seconds to react, because what has he ever done to make the fourth person in line to the British Throne actively run away from him? Coldness and veiled racism he expected, but this reaction almost seemed like fear. Alex found himself grinning at the preposterousness of the situation and quickly wove through the crowd, incapable of leaving well enough alone. 

After a few minutes of searching, Alex spotted him leaning against the wall next to a restroom, looking down at his phone, his hands shaking slightly. He stopped short, worried that there actually was something wrong with the Prince. 

“Are you okay?” He called softly from a few feet away. 

“M-Mister Claremont-Diaz!” Henry visibly started, eyes darting around the hallway. “Again, lovely to see you, but I really must be going. My apologies.” The Prince pushed off from the wall and strode down the hallway at a near run. 

At this point, Alex wasn’t sure if the Prince was having some sort of legitimate medical emergency or running away from him, but decided that either way, he had to follow after. 

“Seriously, your Highness. You seem a little stressed. Why don’t we find you a place to sit down?” He watched in baffled fascination as the Prince recoiled from his offered hand, the Royal redoubling his efforts to weave through the crowd. 

Alex saw it coming, because Henry was focused on Alex. He quickly reached out to try and grab Henry’s jacket. And that was when Henry tripped over a table leg and straight into the perfectly frosted, seventeen-layer wedding cake, dragging Alex with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The column topic June talks about is real. Street Sense is a paper created and distributed in the DC area by people experiencing homelessness. Idk if it's only here or if it's a thing other cities have. Here's an article that addresses it if you want to learn more: https://www.streetsensemedia.org/article/homeless-people-hired-to-evict-tenants/#.Xs1XoRNKgo8
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for your lovely comments! You give me the daily supply of external validation that I crave. It's good to know I'm not the only soulmate AU trash out there <3
> 
> Also also, this will not actually be 12 chapters. It will be considerably longer, but I'm not updating the chapter count because I have no idea.


	3. McPherson Square

_ Mom might actually kill me,  _ Alex thought. She was at that moment delivering a tirade the quality and specificity of which he could never hope to achieve. It involved statistics, a color-coded binder, and some creatively titled powerpoint slides. She was also at least ten minutes in, and starting to slow down. 

“I am sorry, but it literally wasn’t my fault!” He cut in at the first opportunity.

She cocked an unsympathetic eyebrow and leaned over the table, getting close to his face. All of them were flying home, and Alex was incredibly grateful they were on Air Force One. Somewhere deep in his soul he knew his mother was always going to be yelling at him in this moment, regardless of whether she had to do that over the back of an economy seat or while making herself an espresso on a state-of-the-art machine built into the kitchenette. 

“Look, honey. You’re my son and I love you, but you have fucked up so deeply, I don’t have the words. Tabloids are using whatever is going on between the two of you as proof that relations between my administration and the monarchy are “ _ cooling”.  _ You have somehow managed to stir up enough bullshit to make this an international incident, so you’re going to fix this. You are going to make nice with Henry, in as public a manner as possible.”   
  
“No!” He groaned, turning to sit in his seat sideways. 

“Yes.” Ellen looked at him with the dead-eyed stare of a woman living off of caffeine and consternation. “You’ll be flying back over next weekend for some quality time with your new longtime best friend.”

Alex briefly considers fighting back, but the look on his mother’s face makes him immediately discard the idea. “Fine. But he clearly hates me, so he’s going to have to get over that. Did you know, he was literally running away from me when the cake thing happened?”

“I mean, who wouldn’t,” June chipped in from a few seats over. “You don’t actually have to be a dick to him just because he never got a soul mark. I mean, you’d die for Nora.”

“That is a bullshit argument and you know it. Everyone should be willing to die for Nora; she’s the smartest person in the world. AND, they’re not even remotely the same. She decided not to get a mark because she’s Jewish and decided she wanted to honor her heritage, and His Royal Highness doesn’t have one because they’re deviant and he probably thinks everyone that has one is going to Hell.” 

“You don’t actually know that!” June yelled. “I’ve had lots of perfectly fine conversations with him. All you have as evidence is a single polo match and the fact that he doesn’t automatically fall at your feet, which I’m sure is extremely distressing to your ego. You just can’t control your fucking habit of fighting anything that moves!”

“I don’t care if he goes into anaphylactic shock every time he sees you,” Ellen cut in, silencing them both. “You’re on the hook and you will do this, Alex. Zahra will send you an itinerary when it’s ready.” She breathed deeply and let it out slowly. “Now I have to go take some phone calls. I love you, kid.” She reached over and fixed the collar of his shirt before stalking out of the room. 

\------------------

Nora, as expected, was waiting for them in DC, eager to hear the actual details and show them the numerous, deeply embarrassing articles and social media posts she had collected. 

“Wait, he was literally running away from you?”

“Yes, Nora! Like, almost actually running. He wouldn’t even look at me. I legit thought he was having a stroke or something and when I reached out he  _ dodged  _ me. Like he thought he would catch on fire if I touched him.”

Nora looked skeptical. She swung her legs up on the couch, carefully balancing the bowl of popcorn in her hands so that none fell out. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” He insisted, deeply offended. “I said, ‘your Highness,’ because I was behind him getting some food, and he freaked out and ran out of the room!”

“It was super weird,” June called from her spot looking through the collection of records. 

“Probably because you’ve been such a huge asshole to him before, then,” Nora said, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and deftly catching it in her mouth. 

Alex swiped the bowl and took a handful. “He deserves it! We’ve almost never had a complete conversation because every time we’re in the same room, he barely speaks to me. And he’s so  _ polite _ about it, I could puke. Last fall, at that thing, he literally ignored me the whole time”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because you started the conversation with ‘So has your family invaded any new countries lately?’”

“I was just trying to make small talk! You know, show an interest in his hobbies!” Alex insisted, attempting to look as innocent as possible. 

“It’s not like he chose to be born into that family. I actually had a conversation with him at the wedding, and he was perfectly nice.” June came over, bottle of wine in hand, and sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning against Nora.

Nora absentmindedly started playing with her ponytail. “As far as I can tell, you have two options: continue hating him and definitely be miserable all weekend, or try to reconcile and only  _ maybe _ be miserable all weekend.” 

“I think you’re underestimating the option where I keep hating him and it’s extremely fun.”

“There is a 76% chance you will cause another international incident if you do that. Besides, you hate him right now and it doesn’t seem like you’re having fun.” 

She stared at him, eyebrows raised, until he conceded. “Fine. I will  _ actually _ try. Just so that when I come back and tell you how terrible he is, you can know that it’s all his fault. I don’t know how I’ll manage, though. He’s so boring. Did you know his dog is named  _ David _ ? Who names their dog David?”

“I didn’t know his dog’s name. I’m actually pretty curious about why  _ you  _ know his dog’s name.”

“They gave me a fucking facts sheet to memorize. I also may have hate-watched an interview or two. And read his Wikipedia,” Alex admitted. “His favorite author is Charles Dickens, I can’t make this shit up.”

“Okay, but what are you actually going to have to do with him?” She leaned on his shoulder, positioning herself to see his phone screen. 

Alex pulled up the itinerary Zahra had sent and read through. “It looks like I’m staying at Windsor palace, and he’ll show me some London sites. There’s also a charity thing, not specific, and then a television interview the next morning.”

June grinned. “Oh my God, do you think they’ll make you go to a Naturalism Society event? Oh my God, what a clusterfuck. I’m so excited.”

Alex attempted and failed to put his socked foot on her face. “You’re the worst, Bug.”

——————

If asked, Alex would have rated days leading up to his return to London as sub par. He was starting his senior year at Georgetown and had decided to really pad his overachiever status by taking two graduate-level courses. Usually, he’d enjoy a challenge and throw himself into it as best he could without falling into old habits. This time, though, the whole Prince Henry situation was weighing on him, making it hard for him to focus, and by Friday he was actually looking forward to his flight. He needed the uninterrupted five hours to work through some readings. He tried not to complain too much to Cash, the Secret Service agent assigned to him, but judging by the ferocity with which the man completed at least eight crossword puzzles during the flight, he’d failed. 

He was met on the tarmac by the Prince’s equerry, an intimidating, put together man who introduced himself as Shaan Srivastava. Shaan also told him that Henry had a previous engagement and would not be home until late. He also instructed Alex to be up at 7 am to begin the first activity of the day, but that was tomorrow Alex’s problem. 

Alex pushed through the door to the guest apartments where he would be staying, hoping he had the right one. There already seemed to be someone sprawled out on the couch in this room, so he quickly apologized and started to turn around. 

“Oh! Hey, Alex, mate I thought you would never get here!” 

Alex froze and looked at the person a bit closer, recognizing him as Percy Okonjo, the man all the papers and gossip blogs identified as Prince Henry’s best friend. It was confusing, honestly; where the Prince was restrained and careful, Percy was loud. He was known for throwing and attending wild parties that, at least according to the world outside, always went off perfectly. His Instagram showed him constantly having new adventures, and trying new things. His hair was bleached white at the moment, bright against his dark skin, and he seemed to be wearing a silk kimono with bright orange and green swirls on it. Alex smiled at the contrast it made with the extremely demure couch he had been laying on. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending a hand. “Percy, right?”

“Call me Pez, though, like the candy! Sorry about Hen, he’s off doing something extremely boring. That’s why I snuck in here. How do you feel about John Carpenter?”

Alex shrugged, deciding to roll with whatever was happening. “I’ve never actually seen one of his movies, but I am always down for forming an opinion. 

Pez smiled brightly. “Excellent! Go get settled and I’ll get us some food.”

Two hours and a newly-formed positive opinion of John Carpenter he would fight someone to the death over later, Alex turned to Pez. 

“So, does Henry not like scary movies or something?”

“What?” Pez said, adjusting his seat on the couch so they were looking at each other. “No, he likes them just as well as anybody does.”

“That’s surprising,” Alex snorted. 

“Why?” Pez asked. 

Alex just raised his eyebrows. 

“Okay yeah, I get it,” Pez conceded. “But he’s actually a lot of fun, yeah? Besides, he knows how much I love Horror films, so he’d probably watch them even if he didn’t like them. Hen’s chill like that.”

Alex was stunned, so Pez continued, “there’s a quite big difference between like, Prince Henry in magazines doing Royal stuff and Henry, my best mate who makes sarcastic jokes and named his dog after David Bowie.”

“David is short for David  _ Bowie _ ?” Alex cut in, incredulous. 

“Yeah man.” Pez shrugged. “He said naming him Bowie was ‘too on the nose’. Seriously though, I know you two are having some sort of drama, but give him a chance, yeah?”

Alex really did like Pez. He was fun, and smart, and seemed to be going out of his way to make Alex feel comfortable in this ridiculous palace. So he also felt quite guilty when he responded, “Yeah,” like it wasn’t a total lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news! I now actually own a copy of this book. It's been a game changer, in that I am now painfully aware of how good the characterization is in the original text, which is... wow. Yeah, it's a lot to live up to. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm trying a thing where there's never actually an infodump about how soul marks work in this world, but if you're real confused about something, please lmk.


	4. Russell Square

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Henry spend time in a closet

Once Pez called it a night and headed off down the hall to some other part of the palace, Alex was left with his thoughts and his jet lag. He tried laying down with his eyes closed, and when that didn’t work he tried pacing to tire himself out. And when that didn’t work, he decided to go wandering. He put on his glasses and a pair of socks, but didn’t bother to change out of the joggers he’d been wearing to sleep. 

Alex has more experience wandering historically important buildings in his pajamas than almost anyone alive, but something about the palace struck him differently than the White House. The building was much quieter, somehow, and his footsteps seemed louder. Caught in his thoughts, he picked a random door that was ajar and opened it. 

He was a few steps in when he realized what was before him. He’d entered a well-appointed kitchen with stainless steel appliances and countertops, a set of stools on one side of a counter. Most importantly, one of those stools contained Prince Henry, who looked to be halfway out of whatever suit he’d had on previously. His sleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, tie loose, hair disheveled in a stylish way that offended Alex, who was at constant war with his own curls. He seemed to have frozen when he saw Alex, half-eaten ice cream cone in front of his mouth, cheeks pink in the low light. 

“Ah,” Henry said after a long moment, finally lowering his ice cream. “Hello, Mr. Clarem—“

“Oh my God, stop. You can’t call me that in public if anyone is going to believe we’re besties, so don’t bother. It’s weird. Are there more of those?” Alex gestured to the ice cream, and Henry nodded.

“Awesome.” Alex identified which giant metal box was the freezer, pulled a cone from a bulk package, and flopped down on a stool. He silently started eating, looking around the room at anything that wasn’t the Prince. 

“I suppose you should call me Henry then,” his quiet voice came. Alex turned to see him staring intently downward, carefully picking the wrapper off his snack. “And… and I want to apologize. For my behavior at the wedding. I was unforgivably rude.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” he said wryly. “What’s a few grand of property damage and repeated attempts to run away between friends? Ah shit.” His ice cream had melted onto his thumb, so he licked it off and stuck it in his mouth to get the rest of the mess. 

He heard a coughing fit and looked up to see Henry, red-faced and reaching for a water glass.

“Went down the wrong pipe,” he explained after his coughing calmed. “But truly, that night, I was extremely focused on some aspects of the wedding, and I fear I let myself get rather dramatic.”

“ Whatever.” Alex shrugged. “You could stand to be dramatic sometimes. It helps people tell you apart from an actual piece of white bread. How about you keep your condescension in check tomorrow, and I pretend that I can stand you, and if we don’t start any wars, we call it a win.”

“How incredibly generous of you,” Henry said, sarcasm cutting through. 

“What can I say?” He shrugged, shoving the remaining piece of cone in his mouth. “I’m a giver. Goodnight, Henry!” 

———————-

“This room contains the Elgin Marbles,” Henry commented. 

Alex was extremely close to starting a war. 

The first item on the itinerary had turned out to be visiting the British Museum. Alex actually liked museums and was constantly visiting the Smithsonians. But the British museum was more than he could handle. It was like a beautiful, well-researched monument to the five hundred years when England could wander into somewhere, steal all their stuff and topple the ruler, and call it God’s Will. He’d managed to stay quiet for the Rosetta Stone, but this was the last straw. 

“Oh, wow,” he said, his eyes as wide and awe-stricken as he could possibly make them. “Elgin must have been really talented to carve all of this!”

“Ah,” Henry said, shuffling uncomfortably. “Well,

Lord Elgin didn’t actually carve them. He brought them to London. They’re more properly kn—“

“Oh! That’s awesome!” Alex smiled, pleased to see Henry sweating. “Where were they before London?”

“Um, they were in Athens. On the Parthenon.” Henry’s face was completely red at this point. It seemed like he knew how this would end but was powerless to stop it.

Alex revelled in his imminent kill. 

“Gosh,” he said. “It’s so cool that Greece just gave you guys all of these irreplaceable artifacts! So kind of them.”

Henry looked like he wanted to die. 

——————

The afternoon had a charitable appearance. Not the Naturalism Society event Nora had been rooting for, but delivering books to a pediatric cancer facility. The first part was absolutely horrendous, slapping on his best press smile and shaking hands with doctors and nurses while a photographer clicked away. Once everything died down, he was allowed to actually interact with the kids. Henry had gone off somewhere else, and Alex decided to enjoy the time apart. He read to several kids, talked to a few about what it was like to be the President’s son, and just generally let himself have fun. He really deserved it. 

Eventually, though, the kids got tired or had appointments or other things that pulled them away, and Alex was left to wander for a moment, no destination in mind until he heard a familiar voice coming from a slightly ajar door to a patient’s room. 

“I like your scarf! Are you a Rebel Leader, then?”

“No! I’m a kid!”

“Ah, I see. Some day then. You’re certainly brave enough for it.”

Alex was still there until the nurse came by to check in with the patient, and he realized he’d been listening to their conversation for several long minutes. Feeling creepy, Alex quickly turned to walk away, but a call from behind stopped him. 

“Ah. Alex. Hello.”

“Hi Henry. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course; I always do.”

“I’m shocked to see you willingly spend time with us commoners,” Alex smirked.

Henry’s brow furrowed as he looked away. “I try to get out here at least once a month. I– I know what cancer does to a person, and they’re just children, so I want to do anything I can to help make their lives a little better.”

Alex felt his stomach jolt as memories came flooding in— headlines on magazines, photos in tabloids, the hashtag RIPArthurFox trending on Twitter for days.  _ Christ, I’m an asshole, _ he realized. 

Alex couldn't decide what to say next, but he never got the chance as a shout and a loud bang echoed off the sterile walls followed by Cash stuffing both Henry and him in a closet. 

Henry landed first, Alex’s face mashing against the infuriatingly toned planes of the Prince’s chest. Alex looked up to see a look of outright panic on his face for just a second before the door swung shut and they were stuck in the dark. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Henry whispered, immediately shoving Alex off and pushing himself back into the farthest corner, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. 

“Wow, okay, fuck you too, dude,” Alex said, trying but failing to make eye contact in the dim lucky slipping in from the crack under the door. “Sorry you had to touch someone so repulsive.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that. Only, I think I touched your Soul Mark and I didn’t mean to and I apologize. I don’t want to ruin it.”

Alex was touched by the consideration, but his brain had already decided to be dismissive of whatever Henry said, so his mouth replied, “its fine. It’s not like you can do anything to it.  _ Unless… _ oh my God, do you have a secret Mark? Is it on your ass? I bet it’s on your ass.”

“I don’t have a Soul Mark at all, nevermind on my ass!” Henry hissed. “I just know that touching Marks is supposed to be… ah… intimate.”

“I mean yeah, of course, if the other person has a Mark. It helps potential soulmates see if their bond is strong enough to develop. But you don’t, so the most you could do is make it shift around for a bit if we were like, feeling really strong emotions about each other. Wait! Touch my Mark again. Maybe it will move away from you!” He let out a full laugh.

Henry sighed deeply, rising slightly to reposition himself. “The offer is tempting, but I have to decline. Also please be quiet, our lives are in actual danger right now.”

“Aw, come on!” Alex insisted, reaching forward to tug at Henry. He caught the man at just the right moment, and the blond crashed forward pinning Alex to the ground.

“I cannot believe,” Henry said with a grunt, “that even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

Alex felt like it was a complement. 

They both quickly realized they were truly stuck in that position, Henry’s fall having taken down several shelves. The silence stretched thick between them.

“So Star Wars, huh?” Alex finally said, just to break the silence. 

“What?” 

“Star Wars. I heard you with that kid. It was a nice surprise, to be honest.”

“I am an actual human, Alex. I don’t live in a plastic box they only let me out of when I do public appearances.” Alex could feel Henry’s eye roll in his soul. 

“I don’t know if I believe that. Prove it- what’s the best Star Wars movie and why?”

“Are you– are you seriously  _ gate keeping _ me right now?” Henry huffed. 

“Nope,” Alex replied, grinning. “Of course you're a Star Wars fan. Everyone should be a Star Wars fan. I want you to prove you don’t sleep in a plastic box. So just tell me which movie you think is the best. We’re supposed to be BFFs now; it’s something we should know about each other

“Oh for— fine.  _ Return of the Jedi _ .”

“Oh. Wow, you’re wrong,” Alex replied out of reflex. 

In the back of his mind, there was a small part of him that maybe, possibly, slightly enjoyed the argument that ensued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha wow, this year, huh? I don’t actually have an excuse, but please take almost 2,000 words instead.


	5. St. James’s Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Alex spend some time in a dressing room.

Something was up with the Prince. Alex wasn’t an expert in the mysterious ways of Henry, but he could just tell. He had a gut feeling. His observations were thus:

  1. The amount of time Henry was on his phone had increased dramatically, but he didn’t seem to be texting anyone. He looked like he was reading and scrolling, brow furrowed in… confusion? Anger? But as far as Alex knew, he didn’t have any social media presence. 

  2. He was staring at Alex. Like, a lot. The amount of times he’d turned to Henry just in time to see the blond look away was staggering. Alex could only assume he was staring intently every moment Alex wasn’t looking.

  3. If His Royal Highness did somehow have a Mark, it wasn’t on his chest, stomach, or arms. He’d noticed the prince running in the gardens late last night (too late for normal people, what the hell?) and had made sure to check thoroughly when Henry pulled his shirt up to wipe his face




Alex promised himself he'd get to the bottom of this mystery, but the two of them had a public to woo first. They were in a green room at an absolutely inhumane hour, prepping for an interview on a morning show. Alex and Henry had been sitting in silence for some time, when a woman approximately their age knocked and entered the room carrying a kit. 

“Morning, Your Royal Highness, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. I’m here to do your makeup!”

“Good morning! Call me Alex. What’s your name?” Alex asked, attempting to burn away his own exhaustion with a megawatt smile and the red eye he’d just finished downing. Henry nodded to acknowledge her, but otherwise stayed silent. 

She blushed, tucking a tendril of pink-streaked hair behind one ear. “I’m Sophie. Let me get my things set up and we can get started!”

She tended to Henry first, expertly covering the deep circles under his eyes. Alex chatted with her, the conversation light and slipping from topic to topic. When she mentioned she’d been to the US on vacation, Alex lit up. 

“Where did you go?”

“Colorado! My mate got me into climbing and moved over there, so she invited me along for a visit. I love the outdoors, and it’s gorgeous.”

“That’s amazing! I’ve never been climbing but I hear it’s difficult.” Alex said, leaning forward. 

“Oh it definitely is,” she said with a laugh. “But it’s worth it. And it’s good for you.” She brought an arm up, grinning, and flexed like an old-timey strong man, revealing well-defined muscles. 

“Damn, I’m sticking with you in a zombie apocalypse. You can protect me.”

“Ah, excuse me, but am I done?” Henry cut in from the makeup chair.

“Oh! Yes, Sir. Alex, it’s your turn,” she replied, face reddening. She brought out a darker palette and new brushes as Henry and Alex swapped places. 

The conversation continued as she prepped his skin, but stopped abruptly when she loaded a brush with concealer and brought it towards his cheek. 

“Woah, hold on. What is that for?” He nodded at the brush. 

“It’s just some makeup to cover your Mark,” she said, confusion coloring her tone. “It’s standard.” 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Alex said, instinctively crossing his arms. “I’m not ashamed of my Mark. It’s part of me. It’s not like it’s a case of acne or a racist tattoo; there’s no reason to cover it.”

“I’m sorry, it’s show policy, for the privacy of our guests. I have to cover it. It’s my job,” she replied, regret on her face. 

“I really don’t want you to,” Alex insisted, “I don’t want you to get in trouble but that’s a fucked up policy and I—”

“Tell them I ordered you to.”

They both looked over at Henry, who had been sitting silently on the couch up to that point. 

“If anyone gives you trouble, tell them I insisted you leave it.”

There was a thick moment of tension, stretching until Charlotte mumbled an agreement, turning back to Alex. She quickly finished, leaving his cheek untouched, and excused herself. The silence between them once the door clicked closed was all encompassing. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” Alex finally said, quietly. He felt sick to his stomach and confused. How did people view soul marks here, if that was show policy? 

“I did, actually,” Henry replied, not making eye contact. “As I said, it’s your Mark, you clearly didn’t feel comfortable with covering it, and it’s not as if it’s going to react to me on camera, so it’s fine.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think the Crown will like it very much.”

“The Crown doesn’t like anything I do very much,” Henry said wryly. “And you were clearly uncomfortable, so something needed to be done. 

This was a fascinating new datapoint for his “What The Fuck is Up With Henry” study, so Alex pressed on. “I guess I’m just surprised you’d stick your neck out for me.”

“If I could do something simple to make your life easier, why wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe because you hate me?” Alex said, exasperated.

Henry sighed. “I don’t hate you, Alex. I already explained what happened at the wedding, so I don’t understand where you got the idea from.”

“Really?” Alex scoffed. “You really don’t remember?”

“Remind me,” Henry said, frustration seeping into his tone.

“Rio 2016? The diving finals?” Alex thought back three years to the Olympics. He, June, and Nora had all been sent under strict orders to shmooze and mingle. He had spent most of that trip drunk, because while he was excited to be in a place where almost everyone had a Mark and was proud of it, it was also part of Brazilian culture to touch others’ Marks when meeting, just to see if there was any reaction, and that had freaked Alex the absolute fuck out. He blinked to clear the memory. “I tried to introduce myself. You shook my hand and then immediately turned to Shaan and said ‘Can you get rid of him?’”

“Ah.” Henry’s face reddened. “I didn’t realize you’d heard that.”

“You’re missing the point, which is that it was a douchey thing to say either way.”

“That’s… fair.” Henry swallowed thickly. “Was there anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. He considered leaving it there, but the jet lag and early morning meant he was too tired to hold the flood gates closed. “It’s just… being a public figure like this is hard for anyone, I know. But you’re white. You’re born into it, and I’m the brown son of the first female President. Everyone thinks you’re perfect and it’s just a constant reminder that I will always have to work twice as much, that people will always be harder on me. And then you go and do things like play fucking charity polo matches for the Naturalism Society, an organization that probably hates my guts even setting aside the racism and classism it’s steeped in. Why wouldn’t I think you hate me?”

Henry didn’t answer for a long while.

“Well,” he said slowly. “First of all I’d like to apologize for Rio. It doesn’t excuse my actions but my father had died the year before and my worldview at that point was skewed. I was kind of a prick to everyone back then. 

“I can’t do anything about most of the rest, but I do also want to apologize for that polo match. My grandmother forced me into it as atonement for… something I’d done, and I should have been stronger about saying no. You’re right; it’s a vile, racist, homophobic institution that spreads misinformation about Marks under the guise of public service. I hate that I helped them. I hate that I’m not better at standing up for myself. I just… Christ, I hate it.” He cut himself off, running his fingers roughly through his hair.

Alex sat in stunned silence for a moment, letting this new information sink in. “Well,” he finally said, “it’s good to know you aren’t perfect.”

A PA knocked on the door, announcing that they were needed on set. They followed quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO, look at that! Two weeks in a row! A record! Shocking. Thank you all for such lovely comments; I portion them out and read one when I get stuck on writing something.
> 
> About the world I’m trying to build, I just want to clarify that soul marks are not some intrinsic truth. Some cultures ban them, some expect them. Some encourage them but see them as a guide or suggestion rather than infallible. Some places don’t allow marriage unless you and your partner have gotten soul marks and have spent enough time building a relationship with each other that your marks are settled. It’s a messy, varied thing, as things often are in real life.   
> I’m trying to make that come across in the text, but I’m an inexperienced writer and I’d rather give explainers than stick to some weird idea of artistic purity that I’ve built and then have you all be confused and enjoy it less.


	6. Farragut West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex spends some time in a basement

When Alex had forcibly taken Henry’s phone and added himself as a contact, muttering something vague about “coordinating” and “keeping it up for the media”, he hadn’t really thought about the consequences. He had kind of assumed nothing would happen— that the Prince would never text him.

Henry had been considerably easier to be around after his outburst in the green room. Alex couldn’t put his finger on it, but while he didn’t exactly want to be the man’s BFF irl, he also didn’t actively want to punch him most of the time, which was a huge improvement. 

The morning show interview had gone fairly well; the two of them had recounted their weekend activities in the kindest and most superficial of terms, the hosts absolutely falling on every word. Henry even made a particularly clever Star Wars joke, eyes sparkling as he tucked a loose strand of golden hair behind his ear. Alex had been impressed. No one would ever have guessed he’d been on the verge of tears minutes before.

So now, trying to navigate the steep stairs down from Eye Street, Alex had made the mistake of looking down at his phone and had nearly missed a step and fallen to his death because HRH Henry Something Something whatever Whitebread-Fox texted him. 

“Alex what the _Hell,_ ” Nora complained, catching him. 

“Sorry,” he said, quickly shoving his phone back in his pocket as they found a table. 

They were at The Bottom Line, a dive bar in the basement of an office building not far from the White House. It was small, with terrible wood paneling, confusing carpet, and perfect tater tots. The wall behind the bar was full of liquor bottles, memorabilia, and neon beer signs. But most importantly, it was absolutely full of tired government workers and K Street lobbyists who did not give a single fuck that June, Alex, and Nora were June, Alex, and Nora. He loved it. 

Alex waited until Nora went to grab drinks and June headed to the restroom to actually read the text.

**I have a question.  
(This is Henry, by the way)**  
Sent 5:26

Alex panicked for a second, before curiosity took over. 

**Okay?  
**Sent 5:34

 **Why do Soul Marks change?**  
Sent 5:34

Was he serious? Did the literal Prince of England not know basic facts about Marks? Alex hesitated, and Henry texted again before he could reply.

 **I know the broad strokes, but the particulars weren’t exactly taught at Eton. No one there has a Mark**  
Sent 5:35

 **Srsly? No one?**  
Sent 5:35

 **Not that I know of, although perhaps some students had them and kept them covered. Certainly no one was walking around Eton with a Mark like yours**  
Sent 5:36

 **Oh, of course. Wouldn’t do to have people who looked like me at Eton.**  
Sent 5:37

Alex ended the text with a deliberate period and channeled all of his deep annoyance into it, because he was not interested in dealing with whatever racist shit Henry was implying. Henry didn’t seem to notice, because he replied right away. 

**Haha exactly! It’s one of the reasons I hated it there. There’s a reason I only talk to Pez and none of my other classmates  
  
It would have been better if you were there  
  
If people like you were there**  
Sent 5:37

The last two texts came in quick succession and Alex did not have the mental bandwidth to consider their meaning, so he shot back a single text and put his phone in his coat pocket. 

**Going into a basement, might not have service**  
Sent 5:38

Alex tried to tell himself it was technically true and focused on having a small break from class work for the next few hours. He listened to Nora explain some extremely strong opinions about SPSS vs. SAS that he didn’t really follow. Eventually, June took over and talked about a piece she was writing on the gentrification of the DC Waterfront, inspired by their brunch weeks before. He nodded along and absolutely did not think about the text. 

* * *

That night, Alex couldn't focus on anything. He struggled through a reading on Rubicon Theory, feeling like he had to read every paragraph multiple times to retain any information. He tried to take notes, but they didn’t make sense when he read them back. So he switched to highlighter, but realized he’d highlighted an entire page. Throwing it aside, he fell backwards onto his pillow and pulled out his phone. 

**It would have been better if you were there  
  
If people like you were there**  
Sent 5:37

Alex quickly scrolled up and away from the last message

**Why do Soul Marks change?**  
Sent 5:34

Alex’s thumbs hovered over his screen for a long time. He did some quick mental math and figured Henry would be asleep, so he could just answer the question and not have an actual conversation. 

**It depends on how your Mark was done  
  
****And different people think different things  
  
There isnt like a lot of peer reviewed study on soul marks u kno  
  
But I was taught that your soul Mark changes when you feel a strong emotion. Like the color might change slightly or the shape could stretch out.  
  
And then it goes back to how it was before  
  
But like  
  
Only romantic feelings  
  
Marks don’t change when ur embarrassed or w/e  
  
N then meeting ur soulmate is a whole other thing obv**  
Sent 10:40

Alex panicked slightly when three dots immediately appeared. 

**So  
  
Say if someone’s Mark changed, it’s because of how they’re feeling and not how someone else is feeling about them?**  
Sent 10:43

**Ya**

**But like**

**It could be any emotion that could potentially form part of a soul mate bond. Which sucks when you’re a horny idiot teenager**

**Ask me how I know  
**Sent 10:44

 **Interesting  
**Sent 10:44

**Wait why**

**Why is it interesting**

**HENRY**

**IS SOMEONE IN LOVE WITH YOU**

**ITS A MIRACLE**

**WE NEVER THOUGHT THIS DAY WOULD COME  
**Sent 10:45

 **It’s nothing.  
**Sent 10:45

 **OH IT’S SOMETHING  
**Sent 10:45

 **Who are you, Mrs. Bennett  
**Sent 10:46

**It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wifeeeeee  
**Sent 10:46

 **Haha  
**Sent 10:51

**Why are you awake anyways  
**Sent 10:51

**Insomnia  
**Sent 10:51

**That sucks  
**Sent 10:51

 **It does  
**Sent 10:52

 **So what were you doing before I texted  
**Sent 10:52

The three dots appeared and disappeared several times before a message finally came through. 

**Watching the Great British Bake Off and petting David  
**Sent 10:53

**That sounds like it would actually be nice if it wasn’t ass o’clock in the morning there  
**Sent 10:53

**It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.  
**Sent 10:53

 **Hey look, it’s us  
**Sent 10:55

Alex tapped on the image when it loaded and saw a slightly blurry photo of a television showing an extravagant cake collapsing in the tent and two bakers making thoroughly unflattering faces while trying to save it. 

**I really think Martha will kill me in my sleep one day**

**And like**

**That’s valid  
**Sent 10:56

**She won’t**

**She hasn’t done me in yet and she’s had every opportunity**

**So either she’s forgiven us or she’s decided death is too kind and is playing a long game  
**Sent 10:57

Alex snorted, losing hold of his phone and smacking himself in the face.

* * *

9/16/19, 8:46 pm

 **Do you get to choose where your mark goes  
**Sent 8:46

**No**

**You can't tell where it's going to end up surfacing when you first get it**

**that takes a few days  
**Sent 8:59

 **You didn't choose for it to be on your face?  
**Sent 9:00

**Nah, but I like it. Plus twitter thinks it's hot, look**

**https://bit.ly/33YoHoy  
**Sent 9:00

 **How do you have the time to run so many fake accounts?  
**Sent 9:06

* * *

9/23/19, 3:43 pm

 **Thank you for signing up for Porg a Day, the only texting service that acknowledges that Porgs are better than Ewoks and sends you a new Porg image every day! Text "No" to unsubscribe  
**Sent 3:43

 **No  
**Sent 3:44

Sent 3:45

 **NO**  
Sent 4:45

* * *

10/2/19, 10:24 pm

 **Is this real  
****https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/lifestyle/g32823787/10-ways-get-soulmark-settle/  
**Sent 10:24

**No**

**I mean I don't know but probably not**

**why the fuck are you reading good housekeeping**  
Sent 11:03

* * *

10/7/19, 6:47 pm

 **Pez says you cried while watching Halloween**  
Sent 6:47

**LIES**

**LIES AND SLANDER**

**I maybe looked away for a couple of frames AT MOST**  
Sent 6:48

 **He says he has photo evidence**  
Sent: 6:48

 **That's not what the NSA says**  
Sent: 6:52

 **What?**  
Sent 6:52

 **What?  
**Sent 6:52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t clear, The Bottom Line is a real dive bar that really is right by the White House that I REALLY. MISS. GOING TO. Fuck you very much, COVID. Weirdly, DC and London are the only two cities I’ve ever lived in, so I want to pour my hometown love into this fic without narrowing my audience. Sorry my complicated feelings about the Riverfront BID got mixed into this unsuspecting soul mates AU lol


	7. Farragut North

“So are you and Prince Henry like, actual real friends now?” Nora asked. She was sitting on a bench in Farragut Square Park. A box labeled Astro Fried Chicken and Doughnuts was perched on her lap, and she was trying to fit an entire container of ranch onto one chicken strip. 

“Maybe?” Alex replied. He was attempting to consume his doughnut at a dignified pace. “He has terrible taste in Star Wars movies, but it’s easier to talk to him over text. I think it’s because I don’t have to look at his stupid, freakish face.”

“Oh yeah, his face is so terrible,” June said drily. She was eating a chicken sandwich with doughnuts for a bun and was not bothering with any sort of decorum.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Alex shot back. “I don’t know. It started out being just another way for us to fuck with each other, but lately we’ve been having some actual real conversations.”

“It makes sense that you’d want to fuck with him,” Nora said in an impassive tone that Alex chose not to dissect.

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice. Plus he’s an insomniac which means he replies to my messages even in the middle of the night, which is when my brain reaches Peak Asshole, as you both know.”

“Wow, a nineteen day snap streak!” June exclaimed. Alex looked over and saw her greedily scrolling on his phone.

“Give that back! How did you even get it?”

“I’m very powerful,” she informed him. He lunged at her and she yelled, dropping the phone, which he grabbed in triumph. 

“God,” she said, fixing her hair. “You are absolutely no fun.”

* * *

Alex was going to lose his shit. He sat in his bed at 2:30 pm one day in mid October, fighting with a citation generator because tweets are a valid source and he was going to _use_ them, damnit. Midterms had shown up like an unwanted relative, and he was buried in papers. He didn’t have classes on Wednesdays so he sat, an un-showered mass in Hoyas sweatpants and a worn Torchy’s shirt, convincing himself not to throw his laptop against a wall. 

He saw his phone screen change out of the corner of his eye, so he glanced over and prayed it wasn’t a scheduled reminder about an assignment he’d forgotten. Instead, he saw an extremely unflattering angle of his own face as the FaceTime ringtone played and announced an incoming call from HRH Prince Dickead. 

He flailed slightly, attempting to straighten his glasses and smooth his hair down before he clicked accept. 

“Hey?” He said, voice trailing up because he and Henry hadn’t talked over the phone, let alone a video call since he’d left England. 

There must have been a passing issue with the connection, because the image of Henry’s face froze for a couple of seconds. Finally, the image unfroze as he coughed, causing his cheeks to color. “Hello!” His hair was immaculate and he somehow managed to look fashionable in a t-hirt. “How are midterms going?”

Alex let out a sigh. “It’s fine. I have another week and a half of them, so we’ll see. I haven’t pulled an all-nighter yet, so that’s a good sign. But it’s probably a good thing you called, because I was about ready to break my laptop in half.”

Henry laughed. “Everyone has a different writing process, but I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I’m sorry to call like this, but I thought you might be able to lend your expertise for a moment.”

“Is it about campaign finance reform? I’m definitely an expert in that. Ask me anything. I can literally recite Buckley v. Valeo. Try me.”

“Not exactly,” Henry smiled. “I think it’s probably best if Bea tells you herself.”

The picture goes blurry for a moment before it settles on the face of Princess Beatrice, Henry’s sister. Alex had always got on with her just fine, and noticed that she looked annoyed, a wry smile on her lips. 

“Hullo Alex! Long time no see.” She looked away from the phone to say, “okay, Hen, I’m talking to him. See? Fuck off.” 

She waited until there was the sound of a door clicking shut before turning her attention back to Alex. 

“I’m so sorry about this. I know you must be busy.”

“It's fine. What’s going on?” Alex replied. 

“So what I’m about to tell you is a secret to almost everyone on the planet, and you’ll keep it that way if you know what’s good for you.” There was a glint in her eye. “I have a soul Mark.”

Alex’s eyes widened involuntarily. “Shit. Really?”

Bea looked up and away from the camera. “I thought it would make me feel better at a moment when I was in a lot of pain. But that’s not how soul marks actually work.”

Alex shook his head, agreeing. “No, it’s not.”

“I don’t regret it though. I’m glad I have it. Henry has known for a long while, although we don’t talk about it.”

“So why has Henry called me, a random acquaintance?” Alex asked. 

Bea rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to show you. I already know what it is, and you certainly will too.”

The phone shook as she propped it up so she could work with both hands. Pulling her shirt up, she turned to expose her rib cage. Running along her right side were delicate strands of purple, resembling lightning or a vein in marble. That all seemed fairly standard, but as the camera focused, he saw that the middle strands were bent out of the flow of the Mark. It was too early to tell what image the strands would form— a stick bug? A horse? A violin maybe? But it looked like a Mark in the beginning stages of coalescing. Bea had met a potential soulmate.

“Wow,” Alex said, unable to think of anything else to say. 

Bea rolled her shirt down and picked the phone back up. “Yeah. So obviously, no medical emergencies here. I’m… choosing not to pursue it. Hen happened to see it and I said it was fine and not to worry, but he won’t leave it alone. He thinks I got all my information about soulmates in the alley behind a night club while smoking a joint. Which is a bit true, to be fair, but we live in a country where the full first page of hits for a Google search of “soul mark” is all Naturalism Society pages. It’s not as if there’s reliable information just laying around.” She shrugged. 

“So why did you let him call me?” Alex asked. 

“Because I need you to tell him to leave it alone. I’m not sure if you can tell, but he’s panicking because he thinks something is wrong with my Mark. And it’s going to get worse if someone else doesn’t reassure him. I will explain it all to him eventually, once it’s gone back to normal. But I know if I tell him right now he will try to ask me about them.” She let that sentence hang in the air for a moment. “Also this falls under the NDA you signed when you came to visit.” She shrugged. 

Alex shook his head in disbelief. “Okay. I got you. Go get Henry.” 

Relief played across her face, and the picture started juddering about again as she walked through a door and into another room. Alex heard an indistinct “here” in Bea’s voice, and Henry’s face appeared on screen. 

“Hello again,” Henry said, clearly attempting to be casual. 

“Henry. Bea is fine. Stop asking her about it.” 

Color flooded into the Prince’s cheeks. “Are you sure, because I was reading this article and I’m—”

“Henry, stop. Listen to me. Your sister is fine and you need to leave her alone. She doesn’t owe you any answers.” 

“How can you _know_ that though? You’re an actual ocean away.”

Alex stared. “I don’t know, man. You called me.”

“Yes, because my sister got a soul mark from God knows where, and now there’s something wrong with it.”

“First of all, I bet Bea knows where she got it. Also, you don’t actually know that anything is wrong with it,” Alex pointed out.

“I don’t actually know anything at all, and that’s the problem,” Henry insisted, raking his fingers through his hair.

“In general,” Alex insisted, “Marks are _really_ safe. It seems like you think they’re this sensitive, risky thing that could go wrong with an accidental touch. But literally billions of people on this planet have them and live their whole lives without issue.”

He exhaled slowly, feeling tired. “I am not your soul Mark guru, Henry. I’m just a person with a Mark. I’m not a Marker, or a doctor, or a priest. Marks are an art that has been practiced for thousands of years, and people dedicate their lives to learning it. It’s cool that you want to learn more about Marks. I’m happy to answer a question every once in a while, and I can recommend some resources, but man, I can’t hold your hand through the whole process! I’m not qualified, and that isn’t how friendship works.” 

Alex didn’t know how to explain himself, how _frustrating_ it was that Henry’s mistrust of Marks and his sister had forced her to give up privacy. How infuriating it was to live in a world where somehow Alex, whose only qualification was that he was Catholic and latino and so had a Mark, was the most accessible source of information for a fucking _prince_ of a _real country._

Henry had lowered his phone enough that Alex could only see the white of the ceiling. “I see. I’m so sorry to have inconvenienced you.” 

Anger bubbled up and made his tongue burn. “That is _not_ what I—”

The call ended. 

“FUCK,” Alex yelled, throwing his phone down on the comforter. It bounced off and skittered away. He reached for his running shoes. His essay would have to wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by
> 
> 1) being the woman/lgbtq+/person of color who is suddenly expected to teach a course on oppression because your dad/family/white friends decided to get woke
> 
> 2) Astro Fried Chicken and Doughnuts. All hail.


	8. There is No Metro in Georgetown Thanks Jackie O

Alex was trying to soak in the comforting monotony of the Lau. The books, the scattered chairs, the truly heinous architecture. He hadn’t slept in about 36 hours, but he’d gone longer than that before so he should be fine. Alex generally tried to get his work done at home, but a thousand little reasons– convenience, resources, change of scenery, the absurdity of taking a private car less than two miles on taxpayers’ dime– piled up until he found himself trying transmute an outline into a fully formed essay while sitting on the second floor of the campus library. He’d even managed to snag a table in a corner, where it would be difficult for any of his classmates to take a good photo of him. He’d learned the hard way that people weren’t above that.

_The MOVE crisis was a wake up call for the city of Ph–_

No, that wasn’t right. He deleted and started again.

_When John Africa founded the Christian Movement for Li–_

No, that wasn’t it either. He backspaced and tried again.

_In 1985, the City of Philadelphia bombed the private residence that was the headquarters for MOVE, an anarchist group that focused on animal rights and black liberation, resulting in the deaths of eleven people, including five children. Several contributing factors caused the conflict between MOVE, the surrounding community, and the police to escalate to this point. In th–_

NO! Fuck, why did everything he wrote sound so stupid? The entire paper was already swimming around in his head, but he felt like each sentence was a fish he had to catch separately. With his bare hands. He slammed his computer shut.

A walk was what he needed. 

He packed up quickly and rushed outside, trusting Cash to follow.

Down the street, a turn, another turn.

Oh, the Exorcist steps, what if he flung himself down those; then he wouldn’t have to Do Midterms at All Haha So Funny.

Across the street,

through the little park,

down the stairs,

across the bridge over the canal.

He zoned out, following his feet. 

Onto the sidewalk.

Across another street.

Into the big park, oh look there’s the river, concrete, concrete, tourist with overpriced cupcake, woman walking a dog, grass… oh, there was the labyrinth carved into the ground.

He could follow that.

It would be calming. 

He traced the blue and yellow lines of the labyrinth, counting his steps, taking in deep breaths of the frankly questionable scent of the Potomac River. But as he neared the center of his path, he found himself taking faster breaths, almost gasping. Was he dying? No, this had happened before. Fuck, his chest hurt so much. He was on the ground, not sure if his legs gave out or if he’d knelt down on purpose. 

“Alex, can I touch you?” Came Cash’s quiet voice. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

Alex managed to nod, pulling at his hair, and was helped to his feet. He didn’t follow what happened next, but when he looked up, he was in the black sedan that took him to and from school.

Alex knew in the back of his mind that he wasn’t dying, but that didn’t help. June would know what to do. He pulled out his phone as his vision waved, clicking her contact.

The phone rang three times.

“Hello?” The cautious voice came. That wasn’t June. It was a guy, who– Alex yanked the phone away from his ear to look at the “HRH Prince Dickhead” staring up at him from his phone screen. Alex’s breaths came in gasps. 

“I’m sorry. This was an accident, nevermind–“ Alex forced out.

“Alex, are you okay? Don’t hang up. Are you safe?” Henry rushed.

It took a few seconds for Alex to respond.

“I’m safe. Panic attack.” His voice was scratchy and his mouth was dry.

“Okay, do you want me to talk about something else? That always helps me.”

The line was silent, which Henry took as agreement. “Alright, I’m sitting in one of the oldest parts of Kensington Palace. I’m almost positive Queen Victoria decorated it. The whole thing is absurdly ornate, including the rug. One time, when we were kids, Bea threw up on the rug after she ate an entire tube of Jaffa cakes to get back at me for…”

Alex let Henry’s voice wash over him. He didn’t particularly follow along with Henry’s words, just allowed himself to get lost in the musical rise and fall of them, the soft edges of his accent. Eventually, his breathing slowed. His shoulders lowered, and he cleared his throat to test his voice. 

Henry paused at the sound.

“Thank you, I– that really helped.” The car had arrived back at the White House, and Alex gave Cash a thumbs up as he got out. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly.

“Of course I did, Alex. I wasn’t going to leave you hurting.” The words were low and careful, and Alex felt them settle into his chest and make his throat tighten. 

“I know we didn’t end on the best note the last time we talked, though,” Alex insisted.

“I actually wanted to apologize for that,” Henry said quickly.

Alex didn’t know what to say to that, so he let the comment hang for a moment, slightly enjoying the awkwardness.

“I’m not going to say it’s okay,” he finally said. “Because in general if someone tells you that you’re being problematic and you immediately hang up on them, that’s a dick move. But, I could have handled it a little better.” He had made his way through the East Wing, climbed the stairs, and shut his bedroom door, leaning against it. 

“I truly am sorry. You were absolutely right; I was putting weight on you that you shouldn’t have to bear. I felt embarrassed when you pointed it out and I reacted in a way that wasn’t fair to you. I’ve just realized how much I don’t know about soul marks, and considering there are literally millions of people who have them in my country and _I’m the bloody prince…”_

“Shit’s fucked. I’m aware,” Alex snorted, lowering himself onto his bed. “There are a lot of good online resources, you know?”

Henry sighed, making the phone connection crackle. “I tried that, but there’s also quite a bit of misinformation, and I really, truly knew nothing about Marks until you explained those few basic things to me that afternoon at the children’s hospital. I have no frame of reference to spot fake resources. I mean, I’m not about to take memes shared by 60-year-olds on Facebook seriously, but still….”

Silence fell over both of them. Alex took the space to think about how different his life would be if he didn’t have a mark– didn’t know _anything_ about them. In many ways, he would be exactly the same. His mother didn’t have a Mark, but his dad did, so it’s not as though he was raised to believe soul Marks were necessary for a relationship. He was a whole functioning person with school and hobbies and friends that didn’t have anything to do with romantic relationships at all. But still, whenever he imagined himself falling in love, it was always with someone whose mark settled with his. He could imagine it– the excitement at the first signs of settling, sharing the progress with each other, having their Marks blessed at the altar. He was so intimately familiar with the whole process from watching family and friends go through it that he couldn’t begin to imagine being in the dark. He actually felt sad for Henry.

“I thought about going somewhere to do research,” Henry said, breaking the silence. “But Philip would almost certainly find out. He has already proven that he can make me pay dearly if I engage in any ‘deviant behavior’, as he likes to call it.”

Alex’s curiosity at the last sentence was dwarfed by his anger. “Okay, you know what? That’s bullshit. I’m going to put together a list for you. The most glorious resource packet the world has ever seen. You’ll be ready to get your fucking PhD in Soul Marks by the time you’re done reading. Fuck Philip.”

Henry’s laugh came through, clear and ringing. “One hopes not in a literal sense, although I appreciate the sentiment. He really is an insufferable prick most of the time. And he’s staying here while his and Martha’s permanent apartments are renovated, did I say? He’s around constantly.”

Alex grimaced at the thought, but was struck by an idea. “You know what? I think it’s time you visit your best friend in the world, for the sake of appearances.”

“Pez?” Henry responded, confusion clear.

“No, dumbass, _me_. Come at the end of the month! It will give you an escape from Philip, and it’s not like they can say no. We’d just be following their instructions. But bring Pez, too. It’ll be Halloween and I can introduce you to the greatest celebration of absolute chaos and debauchery known to America.” He paused. “Except Mardi Gras. And Pride. And maybe Dragon Con.”

“With an invitation like that, how could I say no?” Henry replied wryly. “I’ll talk to Shaan and see what can be arranged.”

“Okay, good. And come prepared. Costumes are not optional.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the essay that gave Alex his panic attack is the same essay that gave me a panic attack in college! It was Election Day 2012 and I distinctly remember finding out they’d called the election because a guy wearing nothing but boxers and an American flag as a cape came running down the sidewalk outside screaming “OBAMAAAAAAA” at the top of his lungs and pumping his fist. College in DC is a very specific experience. 
> 
> So yes, the MOVE crisis is a real thing that happened where actual US citizens were bombed by their own government. It’s real! Fucked up!
> 
> Also if anyone has costume requests, please comment, because I’m torn and have just been writing around it while I draft the upcoming chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not an author. I literally have not written or wanted to write anything fictional in half a decade. But these idiot boys are one of the few things that bring me joy right now, and there aren’t enough soulmates AUs. So I’m being the change I wish to see in the world. Let me know if I make mistakes or typos? Constructive criticism is fine but I don’t plan on writing literally ever again after this.
> 
> Please comment and tell me what the fuck I’m doing


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